


Drabble: Can I?

by UnholyPlumpPrincess



Series: Dead By Daylight Drabbles [2]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Drabble, Established Relationship, Masturbation, Memories, Other, PWP, Reader is gender neutral but has a vulva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23871031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnholyPlumpPrincess/pseuds/UnholyPlumpPrincess
Summary: For the prompt sentence starter of "Can I make you cum again?" Featuring the trapper!OrIn which memories of you are the Entity's reward to the Trapper, including ones where he can be alone with his thoughts- well, him and his hand at least.
Relationships: Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/Reader, Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/You
Series: Dead By Daylight Drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1720309
Comments: 2
Kudos: 123





	Drabble: Can I?

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna see more of my stuff, request me, and other junk check out my tumblr @sinningplumpprincess

Evan was NOT a soft person.

More specifically, the beast called The Trapper, was not a soft person.

This much should have been obvious. A rich kid raised on daddy’s money and able to get away with murder quite literally. He knew who he was, how he was, how the cleaver felt in his hands as he brought it down upon survivors. How their screams sent him into a frenzy. How the frantic murmurs of the Entity drove him further down this path.

He knew that there was nothing soft about him. He was raised coldblooded and preferred it that way.

But, you? You he’d been soft for in life. Your radiant smile, the way your warmth felt against him in the mornings, how you’d gasp and get excited at the smallest of trinkets. 

There wasn’t much in life that he had thought about since the fog had taken over his life and his humanity. He relished the kills, how this playground of a hell was his own to call home. How the Entity praised his work, how even if survivors escaped, Evan would always be the favorite and the original killer.

But nights like this, when he’s alone, when he’s done a particularly good match; The Entity allows him small favors. And tonight? Tonight is memories.

The smell of your skin is the first thing he remembers as he lies in a dusty old mattress in his old home. The memory envelops him completely of you lying on the bed, legs spread and your arm thrown over your face. You sob something out, the memory making him shudder and grunt on his place in the bed as he grips himself. But in the memory, he’s between your legs, licking up the mess you’ve made with a broad, flat tongue and a groan.

“Evan-” Your memory whines out, toes sinking into the bed to lift your hips off the bed where he follows you. His fingers, rough from factory work you assumed, grip your ass and pull you up so he can clean you with his tongue. Flat from your hole to your clit in a lapping motion that makes you squirm.

As he pulls back, his voice is breathless as he noses at your thigh near desperate for your taste again, “Can I make ya cum again, baby? Please, ya taste so good-” He all but whines out, nosing up the line of your thigh as you tremble in his grip. An open-mouthed kiss is pressed over your reddened lower lips, his tongue catching your engorged clit.

“A-again?” You whine out. This would be the third time, your eyes unfocused as you draw a hand down to rest on top of his shaved head, feeling over the buzzcut. You make an overstimulated noise when he nods, his nose following the line of your cunt as he nuzzles against you- filthy bastard.

“Okay, just be c-AH-” You never get to finish because he’s mumbling a messy ‘thank you’ before he’s sealing back over you again.

The memory makes the beast in bed now shudder and shake, a rough, gruff hand over his cock as he jerks it to the memories of your voice, your taste, your smell. When he cums, it’s with a snarl that could almost resemble your name, the pleasant memory fading with the last of your cries and you atop his body taking everything he’d give you.

The Trapper lets his now glowing orange eyes flutter open, staring at the dirty, rotten ceiling and how the last of the Entity’s black and orange legs sink past the wood to retract.

His reward was given. And he’ll ask for another upon his next reward.

A huff leaves him, almost a beastly grunt.

He missed you. But not enough to request you to join this hellscape with him.


End file.
